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Month: January 2016

Everything you hold dear. Everything you care so much for. Blow your house of cards into a stack of nothing. Because I am the crazy one. I am the one who can’t control emotions. Like clockwork; I huff, puff, and blow your house down.

I am a villain in a valley of victims. The big bad wolf everyone is afraid of. Don’t tell me how you feel, because you’re afraid of how I’ll react. Keep things from me, because it will spare my feelings. Tell me lies because it’s sweeter than the truth. Make believe and fantasy is all you should ever give me. Everything is my fault and everything I do is just a reaction to your proof.

I’ll huff.
I’ll puff.
I’ll blow your house down.

Never believe the one that speaks louder than a whisper. Don’t believe the person with a scarlet letter across their chest. They can’t be trusted. They’re the crazy ones. Don’t believe the tears of a woman because even a woman lies. We all become what everyone hates. The deepest darkest nightmares in truest forms. All we are is vessels to point the blame upon. One finger you gracefully point at me, just know there are three pointing back at you. Keep pointing your fingers down at me, from the pedestal from which you stand upon. It’s foundation made of lies and all the villainous corpses you’ve accounted for.

Oh my, how high people sit on their throne of lies in order to keep up with the masses. It’s easy to pit everyone against each other when you wear the crown. Making wars between the sinners and keeping heroes of the saints. Picking your victorious battles while still losing the wars. I am far to smart to believe the cries of a boy who calls wolf. To believe the silent whimpers of the untouchable sheep. You’re a big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing. You’re the boy who always cries wolf. The louder you squeal the more people will listen. We’re all suckers for tragedy. We all love the misfortunes of others. Seldom triumph over anyone’s victory. I know far too much to ever let you win. You can spread your lies to the masses. Tell them every vulnerability I account for. But you will never win. I am unbreakable. I am safe and I am sound, and I will not be defeated.

Come little sheep. Come little piggies. Build before me your house of cards. Build it high, build it low, build it strong, and build it sturdy. I am not the one you should be afraid of. Be careful for the wolf hidden in the sheep’s clothing. Stay clear of silent voices that speak sweet lies through direct honesty. Be careful of the king who lead battles for war to only massacre the innocent.

I may have always been the villain, but the only villain I see here is you.

If I don’t write this down, I will forget something. All I want is to remember everything exactly how it happened, how it felt. Not miss any single piece of it. Either way posting feelings in my head and down on paper, I am bound to forget something. I will forget feelings, placement, settings, smells, every little detail that make up moments that I am desperately trying to remember.

It’s hard to explain it to people. To people that didn’t live the life I did. That didn’t follow a band or a piece of music because they loved it. Nobody will understand that. How it felt to stomp your feet, clap your hands, and sing every line from your favorite song out loud for all to hear. You start remembering basement venues in sketchy parts of towns, filled with cigarette smoke. Remembering salutations and how fearless you felt at 17. Night thats went on forever, until the lights came on. I can’t talk to a single soul about it. I can’t ask someone how it felt to meet people or see places or conversations I kept in my head. Every day I want to forget but the melody brings it all back. It’s never how far I’ve come but it’s where I’ve been. How I got this far and why I keep coming back for more.

Going on airplanes in route to home, brings back memories of things that have happened briefly, but really was just yesterday. You can’t go back, you can only move forward. Yet things that happened so recently tend to come back like a distant memory. You think about everything and everyone. Moments, feelings, and how perfectly they wrap themselves up in a soundtrack of songs I used to love. A different variety of things but as you grow up, your heart forgets, moves on and dies just a little. I don’t remember why I hate the things of my past but yet I can’t help but succumb to the nostalgia of it all. I hated this band, I hated the people, I hated the music, because they brought back with these memories of a person I don’t recognize anymore. I get it. We all have to grow up sometimes. We all have to get jobs, pay bills and grow up from the fucked up kid from yesterday. But can’t we just pretend we are back there? Back to the 18 year olds wearing dark eyeliner and black hoodies. Back to this notion that we can stay 18 forever?

Peter Pan has his Neverland, where he stays childlike forever. Where do I go to be with the feelings of my younger self, with the wisdom of my adult self? I miss that. I can sing loud and along with the best of them. But still I miss that even as we get older we lose track of who we used to be. I don’t want to be 18 forever, but I want the feeling of pretending I want to. If I could take it all back I would. Take back the sounds, the wounds, the life in the memories. How easily melodies become soundtracks pierced together in our lives. How feelings go as season leave and yet we can’t forget them. Was I missing out or always there? The fear of missing something that wasn’t always there. The photographs you take and the feelings trapped inside of them. Am I missing out?

When you love something so much you place it high upon a pedestal. High above the sky it becomes completely untouchable. Nothing can beat this thing, this moment, this feeling is untouchable. Others have tried, failed, and been nothing but cheap imitations of what you hold dear. When you’re young nothing can reach you, no matter how hard people try. Nothing and no one can come between what you love. I have done a lot of foolish things in my life, but nothing I regret. I loved and I lost, and I put feelings into things that weren’t certain. That’s human nature and as much as you escape the past, all you can do is move forward.

I love a lot of things, but as I got older this love changed as the images did on this status symbol. I loved a lot of bands, a lot of people, and a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have. A part of me wants to hate these images of the past, but the more I close my eyes wanting to forget, I can’t. The foundations of this pedestal is crumbling down and with it, I want to watch all the memories come tumbling down as well. Yet, I find myself disappearing to fix and fill the holes in the foundation. I hated this band for all the reasons I shouldn’t, then loved it for all the reasons I should. In your memories nobody ages, everyone remains the same. You keep conversations in your head and faces sealed in glass cases of everything you want to remember. Even if it hurts you, you still want to keep it. Close to you, when you need it the most.

Few grey hairs later, pit scars healed, and ear drums finally back to normal; I think of this band. This band that seemed completely untouchable. That could do no wrong in my eyes. Even when the worst was bad, I still had the music to hold me through. As I sit in this seat on my way to see them for the first time in years, I get nostalgic for them. I hated this band for so many things through the years, that it’s taken me a great deal of time to come to terms with how I feel. When you grow up you forget that everyone else has too. Maybe in a way this was my sad attempt of holding on to the past, that I have desperately tried to escape. While I have alienated legions of former friends, I realized I missed that nostalgic connection of recollection. Listening to albums and singing every word puts you right back where you started. An insecure person afraid of the world but in love with literal words that are entangled in melody. I am too old to wish to be 18 again. Too old to sleep on floors and dissect every words in every song.

Today, I am transported back to a time where being stuck between lines of a song, and singing along with your best friend was all you could ever ask for. For a moment, I could live forever. Even if it’s just for a day.

I am driving blindly down streets I should remember. Streets I see clearer then the veins that scream transparency on the back of my hand. I could be anywhere, but here I stay. Stuck trying to escape this notion of reality and make believe.

Where am I going?
Anywhere, but here.

I race toward the sun in hopes to catch it. Every moment, every second. Every lasting ray of light before the darkness hits, and I am left with nothing. I see everything clearly yet watch everything disappear. This urging in my heart to race toward this everlasting light and pray for the rays to last me forever. Just a few more minutes. Something to take way the feeling of hopelessness and fill me with light. Just a little bit longer. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know what I’m doing. Its this never ending struggle to pretend it’s okay. That being stuck in one place is fine with me. That being patient is always such a virtue. This road seems never ending. No matter how many times I try to change course, I can’t stop pretending this is where I need to be. Take the long way home, take the shortest route, go these places that are the roads most travelled. Stay safe, drive slow, and the rest will follow.

I grow tired of staying in one place. My mind is going a mile a minute and I’ve grown tired of these familiar streets and haunting surroundings. There is nothing for me here. There is nothing I need from these 4 walls that haunt me while I sleep. Its a race against time. Its a race against nothing. It’s catching feelings in moments that never truly exist. But still I steer myself toward the horizon in the right direction. This light will save me. This light will guide me home. I take blindly all the time and accounts of the nothing that exists. Take everything and push your way through. I am driving myself crazy. I am driving myself mad but the light will carry me home. Just a little while longer before the light goes. Just a little while longer before we disappear.

Its the misty lights that seem so pretty through theses skies. I know what I need to do, I just need to stop the fear from hurting. Race toward the light and watch the uncertainty disappear with each mile I retrace. This will all disappear, all go away. In one instant I’ll be home and pay no mind to my doubts and worries. Not much further I see my exit guiding me home. I don’t know where I am going but I know where this leads. Even if home is just a distant memory to me.

We’re all in the market to use and be used. Everyone has what we need and everyone has what we want. It’s easy to pretend you need somebody. Anybody. A pulse, a touch, and a feeling. We need somebody. We need anybody. Give us the little attention that we crave, and we’ll take everything we need.

Anybody.
Somebody.
Anything.
Something.

It’s never who we want, its always who we need. What we could get from the fools of people who can easily be manipulated. Foolish people giving away secrets. Timid vulnerabilities that trust too easily and expose themselves too quickly. That’s all we are good for; telling secrets to the mighty that never needed us at all. We are the fools, the pathetic, the broken, and the fallen. We are the suckers that believe every word and watch as heels dig deeper on our backs. Doormats with a pulse that can’t help but dust themselves off, time and time again.

Watching everyone hide behind lies and deceptive expectations. Then silently watch them turn around and play the victim. Cast your stones, you can’t hurt me. Throw your shade, I am too close to the light. How we love to absorb every ounce of this energy, leave you suffocating for more. You get what you paid for, you got what you wanted. Now leave the fools to lick their wounds and salvage what little dignity they have left. It’s always what you want, always what you need. What you can get from everyone that you can’t find for yourself.

How easily you shine when people believe you. How easy it was to be the taker with nothing to give. It’s what you take from people that makes you who you are. It what builds the foundation of who you are and where you came from. We all want to use somebody. Be somebody to be used. Become the fool for foolish prides and juvenile expectations. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shames all on me. I should have seen the track marks as signs of what’s to come. Instead boys who cry wolf with their crocodile tears lead me to believe in everything else. You used me. Used me until I had nothing left.

I won’t be there to save you. One day the big bad wolf will take you whole and blow your house down. The people you use will band against you, then you’ll have nothing left. How mighty we feel when we have everything we want. Oh, how the mighty fall when they’ve lost everything they had.

Go cry to your sheep. Go cry to your legions of people that have yet to be used. Save your mighty self for a change. I can’t save you anymore, maybe it’s time you saved your own fucking yourself.

I don’t know what hurts more anymore, my head or my heart. I am moving in slow motion. My body is moving, I am making all the motions, but I can’t seem to get it together. I wish I could explain it. That I could explain every single little thing. I am breathing out all this negativity and breathing in possibility. Some days just hurt more than the rest.

I keep thinking that being some place else would cure this insanity I am feeling. That being surrounded by sights, sounds, and people, would turn this all around. Maybe that’s why I crave human interaction. I crave this crash into a variety of different people, but its those same people that I fear. I fear them knowing how my brain works, how I tick, and all of my different vulnerabilities. Isn’t that the whole point of human interaction, to open yourself completely to someone else? At least that’s what I’ve heard. Trust people until they give you a reason not to. The past few years I’ve opened myself up to the possibility that people can be trusted. That I can open these layers of vulnerability and not have the fear of rejection. Not have the fear of being mocked for who I am and what I believe in. No longer fear my secrets and struggles, in the hopes of truly healing. If I have to be honest, keeping everything inside never did me any good. Its in those days that I want to express exactly what I am feeling to everyone. Then there are days I just don’t want to say anything. I don’t want to express how I feel. I don’t want to keep explaining how much things hurt, or why I feel the way I do. Some days I just want to be completely still and watch the world pass me by. Not because I am hurting, not because I am sad, but because its the only way I can truly be myself. I have gotten to the point that I have hiding places to keep myself away from people. To hide myself away until I feel capable to be associated with people again.

Paralyzed by thoughts, and they just keep on coming. It’s as nothing I do matters. Everything I am doing is wrong. I can’t find the words to make up how I feel, and I feel that I am failing again. I don’t know where I am going. I don’t know how I will get there. I just don’t know anything, and maybe I never did. Its laying in this silence and watching the world go by. Watching as shadows change shape through the blinds. The sun illuminates brightly, then disappears to nothing. Hearing the commotion outside and yearn to be included. I don’t move, I stay here surrounded by thoughts and silence. I miss people. I miss faces. I miss simple conversations and every day things. I can’t reach people no matter how hard I try. I can’t comfort this feeling that everything I do is wrong. I’ve learned that through being alone, you want to be surrounded by people. Different types of people, people you don’t normally associate with. You want to be drawn to their positivity, their light, and all the possibilities of life. Everyone I have once shut out, I want to return to me. Because maybe all this loneliness, would feel differently from a different perspective. I am so used to people lying to me, pretending to be my friend. Pretending to spare my feelings, only to make me the villain in the end. I know to be vulnerable you have to trust people. Trust that anyone can disappoint you and to be okay with the consequences. I have so many things I want to say, so many things I want do, but I am crippled with fear and doubt.

I am afraid people will hurt me. I am afraid of being completely alone. I am afraid to trust people for fear of disappointment. I fear that the same people that call me their friend, will walk out of my life without any emotion. Sometimes instead of confronting my fears and doubts, I stay completely still. I stay quiet and don’t make a sound. Lay in this stillness and watch the world disappear. I know I can’t stop people from leaving. I can’t stop them from lying, or hurting me. I just know that in the end people have a funny way of surprising you. Good or bad. I just have to learn to live with that.

My skin has turned raw for the countless times I’ve tried to scratch you out from under my skin. Days become months, and still I can’t stop this way of thinking. Why do things that are not meant to be, still effect us ever so passionately? The more I stop thinking about you, the more you continue to get under my skin. I shouldn’t be thinking and driving myself into this madness. Yet, I can’t help myself.

I find myself at a crossroads, between you and moving forward. When I step forward to leave, you’re pulling me two steps back. It wasn’t my intention to keep this going. There are days I have the strength, and then days I can’t bring myself to continue on. What kind of madness has to succumb to this emotion? I don’t know how it got this far or how it even started. The more I think I have a step forward, I keep falling two steps back. I just want to reach you, but I can’t.

I am tired of running after you, chasing you and ending up empty handed. If I fall to my knees I know it’s over. The moment I beg you to stay, you’ve already won. Then again you’re always winning. I can’t help but want you around. Even when I know you chase after everyone else and I am still struggling to keep up. These are my scars. These are my pitfalls. These are my skinned knees and broken veins; I’ve hurt trying to reach you. I should never have let you get so far under my skin, but comfortably you stay there. I want to cut out every piece of you, that still exists inside of me. That still makes me think of you. That still makes me believe that even through the hurt and the pain, it wasn’t worse than anything else in life.

You have this silly way of keeping me on the edge of my seat. Keeping me waiting and wanting more. Waiting never does any good, I’ve grown tired of chasing you. Grown up from the juvenile wants of yesterday. Slowly my wounds heal and eventually you come out from under my skin that you found shelter upon. Watching you leave is easier than chasing you upon a thousand empty pavements. Watching you leave, I watch the past leave with every step you take forward. For the first time I don’t have to race to catch up to you. From where I stand I watch the past end and leave with you. The roads come to life and don’t feel as empty anymore. No longer feeling the need to lead back to you and your far off destinations.

The intention was never to be caught, it was always to leave and see who follows. I won’t be the fool anymore. Here I stand, here I stay.

I have a problem with follow through. I get excited over a variety of different ideas and then because of my own laziness, I become dissatisfied with finishing. I hated school, so I became terrible at it. I hated my peers, so I avoid them every chance I get. I start things with intentions of being creative and watch things fall through the cracks of my life.

There is nothing wrong in having ideas. The sad reality of executing them is where the problems lie. I always feel like I am on the verge of the next big idea. I write about it, I talk about it, obsessed over it and before long, I grow tired of it. Tired to the point of no return. Its gotten to the point that I don’t think people believe in my ideas anymore. I’ve talked about things, overhyped ideas and before long I just stop talking about it. There’s something inside that always stops me and then I completely stop the whole process. I never finish what I start. I have blogs that have been forgotten. I have books that have been read but never finished. A million things I’ve started and slowly haven’t been finish for what ever emotional reason. I find myself trying to find distractions, instead of finishing what I started.

All these distractions become clutter in my life. Objects, places and things that I just want to get rid of. I watch time go through the hour glass, and know at any moment all of this could be over. I don’t have much time anymore. Everyone around me is finding their place in life, and I am still stuck here with my ideas. I am still stuck trying to figure out what the hell I really want. I made this mistake in thinking that I had all this time. This belief that I would be young forever and eventually everything would fall in to place. No one tells you how hard everything really is once you get older. Maybe I should stop being distracted and start fucking doing something with my life. Maybe instead of keeping all these ideas, I should start doing something about it.

I leave you by the cracks in the pavement where we said our last goodbyes. When promises were nothing but spoken illusions under starlit skies. I have nothing against you, I just want nothing from you. Because everything you did merits no reply. Everything you said, were nothing but lies.

I watch nostalgia pick you apart. Take you down from your pedestal, piece by piece, and inch by inch. I have nothing left, aside from the memories I have packed for you to take at your will. I don’t need this anymore. I don’t need you anymore. Everything you did was never my fault, but how carelessly I believed otherwise. This is the last time, and this time I mean it.

How carelessly you held my heart, and dangled it in front of me from a string. I wasn’t good enough for my own heart and never good enough for you. I watched you go through your rolodexes of people and never paid no mind to me. And you wonder where this leaves us after all this time? You wonder if after all these years, would I still bother for your time?

Lies are sweeter than the truth. Sweet as candy that burns and decays below the surface. It doesn’t hurt when it’s sweet. It doesn’t hurt to believe, but it hurts when you leave and you watch everything burn into nothing. People love a hero. They love a captain that takes charge of the ship, even when you drift off course. Its the course that you stick with, the course that you lie with, the course that you can’t help but pretend doesn’t exist. Until everyone knows and you make villains out of saints because it’s what you know best. As far as everyone is concerned there is only one hero. Everyone else is just a storm of villains that drives the ship off its course.

Everyone knows better than everybody else. Everyone has something to say and yet it never truly matters anyway. Because truth will always become lies. Words will always get twisted and you only see what you want to believe. Sparing feelings is better than saying anything. Lies are easier to produce then being honest with the truth. How our lies intertwine into webs of uncertainty and everyone knows. When you make up things in your mind, that are fair greater than any honesty we could see. Honesty is a blunt cut, but we can’t help but dress it up with lies that soften the blow.

I become the villain, that always spoke too soon. I become the hatred, the darkness, the storm that turned to a hurricane. The hero just continues through the storm without a scratch, and I am still cleaning off the salt from my wounds. It only matters what the captain says that turns him into the hero. It only matters if the sun shines down on to the sea and clears the way.

It only matters what you tell everyone, to make yourself feel better. It only matters how much of the story is real, instead of the fabrication you want everyone to believe.